Source text - EnglishI am dizzy as I walk through the motor park in Sokoto. My lips are cracked and bleeding. I can't decide what to do or if I want to go home yet to look for my mother. There are mango trees near the shops inside the park and I go under one to lie down. It is the cool here but there are many ants — the red ones that can make you scream and jump when they bite. I crush a few around me before Bayan Layi invades my thoughts. I bring out the wrapped money and count it, looking around to make sure no one is watching. I count in Arabic. This is one thing Malam Junaidu taught us well. Sometimes, during our lessons, he spoke only in Arabic and if we did not understand he would lash us with a whip made from old motorcycles tyres. I didn't get beaten much for Arabic, because I learned very fast. Never forget a thing once I have memorised it.